


I'm Not Thirsty

by TheeSourwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Again, Jeep got smashed, Kidnapping, M/M, au where after the fire Peter wasn't in a coma I guess, he took Derek in so Derek's a mini-Peter atm, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheeSourwolf/pseuds/TheeSourwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets kidnapped by Peter with Derek's help. Derek frowns a lot (when does he smile?) and makes Stiles drink more water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles took in a sharp breath. Just the rush of air burned sharply on his dry throat. He hadn't had something to drink since the night before last. Wincing, he thought back to that evening. 

........

Like the best friend he was, Scott had offered a guy's night out doing crazy shit. It was exactly what Stiles needed after Lydia. She'd crushed his heart like a tiny, insignificant bug. Deep down, Stiles had known her and Jackson would get back together. They always did. That didn't lessen the hurt one bit. He'd always had a huge crush on Lydia and it stung that she would be so heartless. Stung like someone sliced him a thousand times and sprayed some pepper spray over the whole mess. Post breakup was a terrible time, especially for an awkward, gangly high schooler like Stiles. Scott's offer seemed heaven sent, so of course Stiles agreed. Damn, if he'd known how that would turn out, he would have dragged Scott with him to somewhere far away. 

They'd gone out for a night of fun and forgetting, but, in Stiles' shitty Jeep, things started to go all wrong. First, the damn thing began making some funky noises. Stiles had pulled over, hoping to find an answer in the engine as he lifted the hood. All that came was smoke. 

"What the hell, Stiles?" Scott called, sliding out of the car. 

"Dude, if I knew, I'd have fixed it already. Dipshit." Stiles retorted, waving away some rising smoke. Coughing, he stepped back from the engine and froze. Two piercing red eyes leered down at them from the roof if his jeep. Stiles opened his mouth to warn Scott, but his voice choked to a squeak as the creature stepped forward. A human form with monster sharp fangs and hairy face leapt down onto the hood, slamming it shut in Stiles' face. 

"S-Scott?" He managed, looking over at his friend. He always fainted at the sight of Scott. His best friend's face had morphed into one just like the beast before him. Growls and snarls ripped through the night's silence and several more rounded the vehicle, one launching itself at Scott, the other grabbing Stiles. The fuckers weren't gentle, either. Stiles hardly had time to scream before he felt a swift knock to the back of his head. 

..........

Nobody had come to see him or give him food or water since he'd awoken a few hours after that. He was tied to a simple chair and, goddamnit, he had to pee. Now, he took in another breath, blinking hard. His eyes focused, but just barely, on the plain carpet at his feet. That hit had knocked something he loose, he thought with a scowl. Swallowing hard, he shifted, testing his motor skills. 

"Hello?" He croaked, suddenly hit with the realization that- where the hell was Scott?! "Scott?" Stiles called, his voice a little stronger now. He heard a click behind him and saw a shadow cast across the carpet. "Can I get some water? Or, you know, take a piss?" 

The chair was jerked roughly, turned to face the person who'd entered. Raising his eyes, Stiles' head swam. A smirking face met his gaze, this one was fully human. 

"Well, well, well." The man's head cocked, a smug grin playing on his thin lips. "Mr. Stilinski." 

Stiles felt his heartbeat quicken and tried to swallow, but found his mouth dry. 

"What do you want? Where's Scott?" He began, eyes narrowed and sat up taller, "My dad's the sheriff, you know. He'll come looking for me." Stiles clenched his jaw, trying to keep the utter fear from his voice.

The man's grin spread slightly. Creepy as fuck. This dude must have been a professional rapist. Or something. Stiles shuddered involuntarily, keeping his face steely. 

"Mr. Stilinski, your friend.... Scott, is it?" Stiles' eyes widened, sudden rage filling him.

"What. Did. You. Do. To. Scott?!" He spoke painfully, coughing harshly as he uttered the last word. 

"Oh, he's fine. We think. He escaped after we knocked you out. You're, essentially, bait at the moment." He stated cooly, leaning on the wall behind him. Stiles' coughing quieted at this information. He'd never been taken hostage or kidnapped before. This was new. "Anywho," he spoke again, "Stiles. You'll be staying here for a bit, but don't fret, you'll have all the essentials. Food, water, you know."

Stiles' gaze fell, but he chuckled softly. "Oh boy. I've always wanted a free getaway." He remarked sarcastically. The man grinned again, still fucking creepy, and nodded before slipping out the door. Alone. Again. Footsteps sounded again, the door creaking open again. Or maybe not. 

Stiles dared to raise his eyes, and found a tall, dark, and, awkwardly, hot as fuck. A scowl adorned the man's scowling face. 

"Get up." He growled, untying Stiles' arms and pulling him to his feet. 

At the sudden motion, Stiles stumbled and fell. Face first. The carpet smelled musty, he noted. A calloused hand gripped his neck an shoulders, dragging him up. 

"Is standing really that difficult of a task?" Mr. Scowly muttered, pulling Stiles toward the door and out of the room. 

"Well, when you've been tied to a fucking chair for nearly two days, your muscles are a little out of practice." Stiles retorted, following slowly. Just to piss him off. The guy seethed, clenching his jaw.

"I can carry you, if you'd rather." When he spoke, his words came out as sweet as venom. Delightful. 

"No, Mr. Sunshine, I think I got it now. Thanks for the offer, though."

Rolling his eyes as they entered a bathroom, the man pushed him inside and shut the door, standing outside. 

Stiles sighed. Alright then. He gave the room a once-over, searching for any possible escape route. Dammit. None. He settled for emptying his bladder, that, by then, felt like t was about to fucking explode. Turning on the sink afterward, he scrubbed his hands, rinsing where the rope had burned slightly. Catching himself in the mirror, he sighed again. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. Sleeping in a chair was probably the least comfortable thing. Ever. Finding nothing else to do in the bathroom, he extended his hand to grab the door handle. As he did so, the door was already opening. Tall, dark, and brooding stood there, arms crossed over his chest. 

"You want some water and something to eat?"

Stiles nodded, still unable to swallow correctly. "Damn right I do." He replied, stepping forward to follow his guard to the kitchen area. He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking awkwardly down the hall. If he was staring at the guy's rippling shoulder muscles, that was his business. When they slowed, Stiles peeked from beside the guy, curious as to where the hell he was and who the hell these people were. Before he'd gotten a good look, an arm shot out in front of him, a well-muscled forearm right in his face. Matching his scowl, Stiles grunted and leaned forward, biting down as hard as he could. 

A snarl ripped from the man's throat. He pulled his arm easily from Stiles' teeth and put a hand on each of Stiles' shoulders, slamming him into the nearest wall with such force that Stiles' lungs emptied. He struggled to breathe for a moment and that attractive face so close to his really didn't help. Stiles couldn't even fidget. Damn he was strong. Raising his eyes, Stiles smirked defiantly. That look of victory got wiped off his face real quick, as the guy's eyes started changing color. Stiles' own eyes widened and he squeaked involuntarily. He snarled again and Stiles flinched back, eyes shut. Then, for some reason the pressure on his chest was lifted. 

Stiles slumped to the floor, looking up to see that Creepy Smiley had pulled Mr. Scowl away. The two exchanged hushed words before both sets of eyes landed on him. 

"What? I got something on my face?" Sarcasm was pretty much his only defense, since he was a pretty scrawny guy. Creepy Smiley cocked, you guessed it, another creepy grin. 

"Derek, take him in the kitchen. And for heaven's sake, don't injure the kid."

Derek. Stiles ran the name over in his mind a few times. Before he had time to smartass again, Derek jerked him to his feet, scowling. Stiles smirked, wondering if he ever smiled. He guessed not, considering he'd yet to see one. He'd just have to step up his game a bit.They entered the kitchen and Derek sat Stiles down, turning on his heel to search for a glass. Stiles looked around the room. It was a big place, could've used some work, but it was pretty nice. As he looked back toward Derek, a cup of water was right in his face. 

Brow raised, he took the glass and drained it. Derek eyes him, snatching the cup and filling it up again. Stiles' brow furrowed. At that, a quiet growl rumbled in Derek's chest. 

"Drink. You're dehydrated." 

"Wow, really?" Stiles retorted, taking the refilled glass, "I wouldn't be if, you know, I hadn't been tied to a goddamn chair." He drank the water and set the cup down. Derek's dark gaze intensified. How was that possible? Stiles clenched his jaw, cocking a grin.

"So... Derek." Stiles muttered, leaning into the chair. Derek crossed him arms over his chest, his lips twitching up in a smirk. 

"No talking until you drink more." Derek ordered, eyes narrowed. Damn, he was serious about being hydrated. Stiles snorted, opening his mouth to speak anyway. Before he could even begin the first syllable of his rebuttal, Derek had spun him around in the chair, pinning him to the counter with his body. Growling, he reached up and pinched Stiles' lips together. "When I said no talking, I meant no talking, Stilinski." At the proximity, Stiles swallowed the words. With wide eyes, he looked over Derek's face. Shit, he was more attractive than Stiles had thought. No, no. None of that. He was a kidnapper. A... uh bad guy. Not a really hot, buff guy pinning Stiles to a counter.

Stiles fidgeted, trying to pull his face free and, maybe, ok probably, bite him again. Derek stepped back with a smirk and turned to get Stiles some more water, calling over his shoulder, "and, for the record, if you'd bitten me again... Just beware. I bite back." Stiles slumped against the counter, taking a few steadying breaths. the thoughts were back. Shit.

.........

In the end, Stiles drank six more glasses of water. That made Derek a lot more passive. He was still a dick, granted, but the effect was lessened. Stiles learned that he was free to roam the house from then on, so long as someone was around. Those guys were pretty confident in their ability to keep him from escaping. Whatever floated their boat, he thought. That evening, after he'd eaten with Creepy Smiley, Stiles now knew him as Peter (as well as found that third thing, the one that had hit him over the head, was named Isaac), and Derek, they sat around on the sofas, chatting about anything the kidnappers brought up. Stiles had abandoned the idea of escape. All of these guys held a good 150 pounds over him, Stiles thought, staring absent-mindedly into space. If it happened to be at Derek, well, that was his business. 

"Stilinski." Derek snapped, eyes narrowed. 

Stiles blinked hard, reality slamming him in the face like a freight train. He took a deep breath, blinking some more.

"Uhh. Huh?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek crossed his arms over his chest. "Peter's question. Answer it." Stiles face blanked. 

"What question?" That earned a growl. Stiles threw up his hands in exasperation. Peter smiled his creepy motherfucking smile and spoke cooly. 

"Did Scott ever talk to you about his condition?"

Stiles sat for a moment before laughing loudly. 

"His asthma? That hasn't been an issue for a month or two now, which is really weird." Stiles confessed, his brow furrowing. Peter looked pleased, raising a brow.

"So, his asthma hasn't acted up?" He confirmed, glancing at Derek. 

Stiles nodded, "Yeah... That's what I said."

Derek scoffed, scowling. With a chuckle, Stiles smirked.

"What's the matter, dude?" He inquired, shooting a look at the, dammit, way-to-attractive man sitting opposite him. "Your face is always stuck in a frown." His remark elicited a snarl this time. Hearing the familiar sound, Stiles flinched slightly. It had been the same beast on his poor jeep. Why hadn't he gathered that sooner? At the realization, his eyes grew wide. 

"Do you want to know what those things were on your car, Stiles? What Scott turned into as well?" Peter prompted, a brow quirked. 

His breathing quickened and he looked from Derek to Peter before swallowing. His voice came out in a squeak, though he didn't intend it to, "Yes." 

With his confirmation, Peter nodded to Derek. A dark grin played on Derek's lips, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine. He shrank into the couch as Derek's eyes glowed blue, just as they had in the hallway. Hair inched down Derek's face, his canines elongating slightly. Stiles couldn't breathe. Taking a step forward, Derek's chest rumbled with a low growl, claws sprouting from his fingers. At that, Stiles' world faded to black. 

............

He awoke on the couch. It bothered Stiles how relaxed his kidnappers were with him moving about the house. Blinking hard, he came to the realization that... Werewolves. Derek last night. Oh, damn. Biting his lip, he sat up, looking around the room. As his gaze traveled to the kitchen, Derek's abs - unclothed abs - appeared. Stiles jumped, making an awkward squawk as he slipped off the couch and landed on the hardwood. He pulled himself back up, rubbing his head, and looked back up, this time to Derek's face. The usual scowl had remained, but Stiles could have sworn he saw the corners of his lips twitch up. Just barely, before the frown returned.

"Good morning?" The man spoke calmly, holding a bottle of water. Holding out the bottle to Stiles, he grunted. "Drink."

Stiles raised a brow. 

"I'm not thirsty." Stiles informed him, trying very hard to keep his eyes on Derek's and not his exposed torso. Per usual, Derek clenched his jaw and growled. 

"I can make you drink it, Stilinski." Derek pointed out, shaking the liquid to reiterate his command. Stiles frowned, standing up. 

"I'm. Not. Thirsty. Der-" his protest was cut short by another growl, this one louder. Derek climbed over the couch, thank god he was wearing shorts, and put a hand on Stiles' chest. He could feel Stiles' heartbeat flutter at the contact. Smirking, Derek pushed him onto the hardwood, planting a knee on his sternum. Stiles flushed, moving his arms up to try and push Derek off. Before he could even touch him, Derek pinned the arm by the wrist. Stiles opened his mouth to smartass, but Derek shoved the bottle into his mouth. Still closed. 

"Let me say it again." Derek spoke, a smug look on his face, "I can make you drink it." Stiles mumbled smart ass replies, some of which Derek was thankful he couldn't understand; he may have beaten the shit out of the kid, if he'd heard them, and Peter wouldn't be pleased with that. "I'm not letting you up until you tell me you'll drink it." Stiles' eyes narrowed, but he spat out the bottle.

"Fine."

Derek stood, offering a hand to Stiles. Ignoring the gesture, Stiles clambered to his feet indignantly. Derek rolled his eyes, shoving the bottle into Stiles' chest before turning on his heel and striding away. As he left, Stiles may or may not have been staring at the tattoo between his shoulder blades rippling with his muscled back. He was curious about its meaning, but kept his questions to himself. Raising the bottle to his lips, he drained it quickly. Damn dogs. Why did Derek care anyway? Stiles safely assumed it was because, if they returned him injured in any way, shape, or form, any consequences would be tripled. If they were lucky. Following that train of thought, he wondered what his dad was doing right then. What about Scott? Or worse... Lydia? He swallowed those thoughts, glancing around the house. It seemed empty. Stiles smirked for a moment. He wanted to test that theory. So, he decided to take a walk. 

He made it out the front door with no issue, closing it as quietly as possible. Tromping down the stairs, he put his hands in his jean pockets an strolled down the dirt path that led away from the house. Stiles took in a deep breath of the refreshing fall air, looking around at the forest that surrounded him. The house was located, it seemed, in the middle of nowhere. Letting out the deep breath in a sigh, he followed the path into the woods, scanning the foliage for any sign of a pursuer. He allowed his mind to wander. Werewolves. At the image of Derek's wolfish features and glowing eyes, he shuddered involuntarily. That shit was crazy. Almost as crazy as him being fucking kidnapped.

Stiles had been so deep in thought, staring at the narrow trail before him, that he hasn't hear the crunching of leaves behind him. A familiar voice echoed through the forest.

"Stilinski." 

Stiles sighed and halted, not needing a glance back to know who it was.

"Can I not take a walk? The woods are so pretty this time of year."

When Derek appeared at his side, he actually had a shirt on. Dammit. The usual scowl on his face deepened.

"Dipshit. What part of kidnapped don't you understand?" His voice was a growl. If Peter found out he had let Stiles get that far, he'd get an Alpha ass beating. Stiles raised his eyes to meet Derek's glare.

"Can I at least walk around when you're here? You puppies let me go pretty much wherever as long as you're around to catch me if I decide to run, which I won't. That would be utterly stupid, considering the strength difference. I mean, I'm fast, but I'm sure one of you could catch me no problemo." He bit his tongue, a little harder than he'd meant to, to shut himself up. His tendency to ramble made his nervousness obvious. Though Derek could hear his heartbeat accelerating, it was amusing for him to give it away. 

"Only if you drink more water." Derek agreed, starting forward on the trail. Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but his jaw dropped at the answer. He wasn't agreeing to anything, but scampered after the scowling figure. 

"What is it with you and hydration? I mean, geez." Stiles inquired, cocking a brow. Derek shot a laser guided glare at him, then shrugged. He grunted something inaudible and shook his head. Stiles narrowed his eyes, prodding his shoulder harshly. Whimpering as the werewolf caught said appendage and bent it backward, almost to a breaking point, Stiles stuck out his tongue. 

"I'll break that, too, Stilinski. Don't push it."

Stiles huffed, pulling away and crossing his arms over his chest. 

"I think I deserve to know, Mr. Grumpy Wolf. I'm the one being pumped with fluids." The look he received for the nickname could have stopped Godzilla in his tracks. Stiles grinned it off, a brow raised to reiterate his original question. Derek let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. 

"I just... Kinda... I dunno." He mumbled, looking straight ahead all the while. "It's just... I feel like I need to protect you. You weak, almost helpless little kid."

Stiles reddened slightly at the confession, but frowned. 

"Helpless? Gee, thanks, dude."

"Don't call me dude."

They walked for a while before Derek turned them around, half dragging Stiles back to the house; apparently, he had to cook dinner. The idea of Derek cooking was funny enough, but now that Stiles knew he was a werewolf... It was hilarious. 

When they entered the house, Derek received a questioning glance from Peter. 

"Wanted some fresh air." He said simply, jerking a thumb toward Stiles. Peter made no reply, thinking nothing of it, it seemed. Derek dragged him to the kitchen, plopping him on a bar stool like a six year old. Of course, it wouldn't be the same if Derek hadn't shoved a bottle of water into his hand and told him to drink it. 

"I never agreed to that verbally." Stiles proclaimed, raising it to his lips and swallowing anyway. A growl sounded from the fridge where Derek stood. 

"You came along. Therefore, you agreed. So shut up and drink the damn water."

At Derek's turned back, Stiles stuck out his tongue. 

"And, remember, I can break that, too."

Stiles scoffed, setting the bottle on the counter and spinning in the swivel stool. When he raised his eyes, he found Derek there, a brow raised. 

"You, uh, having fun there, sport?"

"Oh yeah, dude."

At his retort, Derek's eyes narrowed. The corners of Stiles' lips twitched up in a half grin. 

Derek finished the food. Damn, he was a pretty decent cook. Not to mention, when he put stuff in the oven, Stiles could sneak a glimpse at his ass. Not that Stiles would admit to that. They ate with Peter, silently.

"So... Scott's a werewolf?" Stiles asked finally, breaking the silence. Derek simply nodded, Peter following suit. "Why do you want him?"

Each took a deep breath. 

"We need to speak with him on some pressing matters. Of the lycan variety." Stiles cocked a brow at Peter's response. 

"Why not, just, you know, talk to him?"

Derek chuckled, raising a brow.

"Do you honestly think we haven't tried? We've tried to contact him, but so far he's refused every offer of communication."

Stiles snorted, taking a drink of water to keep Derek happy. 

"Well, I could find him and talk to him a helluva lot easier than you guys. Why not let me chat with him?" 

Again, Derek laughed. Peter simply smiled that creepy ass smile of his and spoke to Stiles like he was an ignorant child. 

"That would accomplish nothing. I can assure you." 

At that, Stiles let the topic drop. 

After dinner, he sat on the couch, watching whatever was on the TV. Not much, just some old Looney Tunes. Derek didn't understand what was so funny about cartoon animals injuring each other. Stiles couldn't explain it to him, either. That was frustrating. As he opened his mouth to try again, Peter's voice rang out behind them. 

"I'll be back later, Derek. Don't do anything stupid."

Derek grumbled a reply and Stiles heard the front door click shut. Taking a deep breath, Stiles looked from the door to Derek. 

"About what you said earlier... I don't need protecting Derek. I can handle myself." Stiles began. He hardly had time to process the attract- man standing and jumping over the coffee table toward him.

Next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor again, Derek's knee on his breastbone. It was a struggle to breathe. He felt something sharp pressing right above his Adam's apple. Holy shit, a claw. Damn it. Stupid werewolves.

"Oh, can you?" Derek asked, the smug look that would have usually adorned his face gone. Again, his attacker stood and pulled him up. "Stilinski, what if I hadn't stopped? I could tear you in half. So could any other werewolf. Honestly, I think some humans could. Not to be rude, but I'm quite sure you do need protecting."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott was trying to earn his "Reckless and Stupid" badge today and ultimately lands the pair in even worse trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about taking so long and not having much to show for it. I kind of just trudged through this one to get some things settled and characters where I want them. I have more ideas for Chapter Three, so it should be longer and more interesting. Bear with me, if you can. Critique and comments are greatly appreciated so I can fix anything!

Stiles blinked awake. This morning, he wasn't on the couch. It seemed they'd plopped him back in the dimly lit room where he'd been before. At least they'd had the decency to drop a blanket over him before leaving him on the floor. He grumbled, sitting up a little too fast. The room spun and he had to steady himself on the carpet. Damn concussion. Why couldn't they have just, he didn't know, used chloroform? Shaking his head, he tried to stand. Just a bit stiff, he stretched a little, blinking to help his eyes adjust. When he could finally see straight, he made his way toward the door. Just for funsies, he jiggled the knob. Locked, of course. Sighing, he glanced down. The chair was pulled up next to the door, in its seat were a few granola bars and a case, a whole fucking case, of water bottles. Dammit Derek. Stuck on one of the chair's arms, he found a sticky note. It took him a moment to figure out that the scrawled handwriting was cursive. He squinted, bringing the paper close to his face. 

'Drink.'

Stiles threw up his arms in exasperation. They expected him to stay in this dim little room. Until they got back, which wasn't even a sure time. Great. He cussed out loud, kicking the door. The sharp pain in his toe told him what a stupid idea that was. Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed and grabbed a bottle. He wasn't hungry, but, damn Derek, he was thirsty. Unscrewing the lid, he wandered around the space, finding a light switch. He flipped it on, flinching at the sudden brightness. Well, at least he wasn't in a dark room anymore. Stiles took a sip, but ended up coughing instead of swallowing. He shook his head and sighed. There wasn't a window, in fact, it seemed the only way out was the door. Which was locked. His ADD trembled at the thought of being stuck in a boring room with no more than a chair, some snacks, and a blanket. What the hell was he supposed to do all day? Groaning, he slumped against the wall. 

Stiles sat like that for a while, just drinking his water. His mind began to wander. He thought about Scott for a while, then about the whole situation. What about his poor jeep? Where was his dad and what was the sheriff doing? Was he looking for him? Stiles shuddered involuntarily. More importantly, what were his captors doing? Were they hunting Scott? Tilting his head back and propping it on the wall, Stiles sighed. Doing nothing was not his forte. He stood, leaving the half-empty bottle on the floor. He neared the door and leaned on it. Maybe... Maybe he could break the door? Stiles had to laugh out loud at the thought. Anything was better than sitting around, he decided and looked around for something solid. The only thing around was the chair. Worth a shot. Stiles pushed the assorted snacks and case of water out of the seat and lifted the chair, testing to see how dense it was. Shrugging, he grunted and hoisted the chair up, bringing it down as hard as he could on the door. Two chair legs clattered unceremoniously to the floor. Stiles heaved a sigh. Wonderful. 

Damn Scott and his perfect timing. Just as Stiles dropped the broken chair in irritation, his friend's voice sounded from the other side. 

"Stiles?!" 

Stiles froze, jaw dropped. The chair hit the carpet loudly. 

"Scott?" 

A loud laugh of disbelief and the door was pushed open, right into Stiles. The impact sent him stumbling back a few steps, then ungracefully onto his ass. When he tried to stand, Scott was right there and dragged him to his feet, right into a brohug. 

"Holy shit Stiles! Man, I hoped I'd find you. Are you okay? Holy shit, dude, what did they do to you? I am so sorry for getting you into this."

Stiles had to take a few steadying breaths before replying, "Well, I'm fine. Head just hurts. Concussion I think. They.. Uh, they wanted to talk to you about.. I don't know. How the hell did you find me? Where are we? Who exactly are those guys?"

"I'll tell you on the way out. They could be back any minute now."

Scott glanced over his shoulder before grabbing Stiles and pulling him toward the front door. Stiles followed, in silence for once. He wanted to get out, but something told him that out there wasn't much better than in there. The pair made it out the door without issue and started down the dirt path into the forest. 

"So? Answer my questions, Scott. I already know about... About werewolves. You're a werewolf, These guys who took me are, too."

Scott's brow furrowed, but he nodded. 

"Well, since you know, it'll be a lot easier. So, you remember that night a few months ago? When I was so frustrated with Allison? I went for a walk, just to cool off. While I was walking, a werewolf was following me. I didn't know it, but it was the Alpha of the other pack."

"Other pack?" Stiles cut in, jaw dropping. Scott cocked his head a bit and continued.

"Yeah. Those guys, Derek and Peter, they're Hales. The Hale pack. Well, the guy that turned me, he's the alpha of their enemy pack. I'm not sure as to why there's a feud, but they sure as hell hate each other. Derek and Peter want me as leverage. Against them. They don't want to talk. Hence why I've been avoiding any chit-chatting they want to do."

Stiles took this in, trying to digest all of it. This just wasn't Stiles' week. First Lydia, then the poor jeep, then concussion, then werewolves, and now a werewolf war. And he was in the middle of it all. Delightful. 

For a while, they walked in silence. Stiles had so many questions, but a sick feeling in his gut told him he didn't want to hear the answers. Working up the courage to voice the question that hounded him most, Stiles opened his mouth to speak. He didn't get a word out before Scott halted, putting an arm up to stop Stiles as well. To be honest, Stiles almost bit him, too, but one look at his best friend's face told him not to fuck around. 

"What is it?"

Then he saw the two dots of red, shining in the shadows ahead of them. Stiles sighed. Here we go again. He thought it would be easier the third time - seeing a werewolf - but fate wouldn't be that kind, of course. When Peter stepped out from the woods, his eyes glowing red, his fingers elongate into claws, and his face extra furry, Stiles' head spun. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to Scott. 

"Was it really that simple, Mr. McCall? At least now we have a chance to speak."

Scott's eyes narrowed and his eyes flickered gold. Stiles grumbled something snarky about dumb dogs, but his mouth snapped shut when a voice sounded from beside him. 

"It seems that way, doesn't it?" Scott spoke finally, beginning to wolf out himself, "What do you want, Peter? Whatever it is, leave Stiles out of it."

"We would have if you had just come with us, Scott." Peter countered, stepping closer still. Stiles could feel Scott tense at the proximity, shifting on the balls of his feet as if prepared for a fight. Peter smiled calmly and continued, "Mr. McCall, we aren't here for a fight, but believe me... we're willing to." 

At this, a soft growl sounded from behind them, as if to reiterate the point. 

Oh, even better. Stiles didn't need to look to know Derek stood behind them. And possibly pissed. And on Peter's side. Scott straightened slightly, but didn't relax. 

"Whatever you want to know about them, I'm pretty sure I haven't been informed. They're tight lipped and turning me was an accident. At least, that's what B-" Scott bit off the end of the last sentence, swallowing as if to pretend it didn't happen. Stiles glanced back at his friend, a brow cocked. Scott frowned slightly, hoping that it hadn't been noticed. Peter, however, seemed very interested in the name Scott had almost uttered. His face had returned to normal, a smirk playing on his lips. 

"Boyd? We already knew. However, thank you for the conformation, Mr. McCall. He and Reyes have been having a little fun recently, it seems." Peter spoke, a pleased, but still creepy, smile spreading across his face. Stiles could see him glance back at Derek. 

"We're going back to the house, aren't we." Stiles stated, rather than asked. He could feel Scott tense beside him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE 1/23/14: I haven't updated this in nearly a year.... I apologize a load for that! When I first started this, I was basically clueless in regards to fanfic and the show. So. I'm going to re-read all of this and re-organize all of it. ^^; I'll get it figured out eventually, I promise!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I'll have the next chapter out soon. Getting difficult to write and study trig.


End file.
